“The Legate Amadou Barry is responsible for his own death.” My voice emerged as more of a hoarse croak. “It was his choice to follow us into a dangerous place. He thought he had the right to possess Bee simply because he wanted her. Yet he didn’t respect her enough to trust her when she tried to save him. He was swept out of the spirit world by the tide of a dragon’s dream. I don’t know what happened to him after that.”

“My lord, if you will allow her to take willowbark tea to ease the pain, she will come to her senses.”

“She is not delirious.” White-lipped, Lord Marius glared at me. “The punishment for murdering a Roman legate is death. The punishment for murdering my beloved brother is that I will hound you until you show me his grave and then I will water it with your blood.”

From outside I heard men shouting angrily. Lord Marius turned to look at the tent’s entrance, where two soldiers in the colors of the Tarrant militia stood guard.

“No! They’re saying one of them was shot! I will see my sisters!” The voice was Vai’s.

A second male voice replied in the loud and mocking tone of a highborn man who means to be heard by as many people as possible. “Your sisters, or your daughters? I know how your kind are. Everyone sleeps in the same bed.”

“I’ll kill you,” said Vai in a raw, ugly tone I had heard only in his nightmares. The smack of a fist hitting flesh was followed by the thud of a body hitting dirt.

The other man shrieked, “Get the stinking goat off me!”

A commanding voice I recognized as the mansa’s spoke. “Enough! Tie his arms back if he can’t control his fists.” The grunts and curses of a scuffle faded to silence.

Vai burst into the tent. His arms were trussed up behind his back with rope bound around a stout stick that could be twisted to control him. The brawny soldier who had hold of the stick brought him up short as he saw the girls.

“Bintou! Wasa!”

The bigger girl bolted to him and pressed her face against his shoulder. He kissed her hair, then looked with a frown toward the other girl who, with her too-short crutch, hadn’t tried to move. His glance skipped from the invalid girl to the woman. His lips parted. A jolt of stunned shock rolled through his body. But he recovered quickly. In a cunning move worthy of a sly Barahal, he slammed back into the soldier, jostling the stick. With a wrench, he freed himself and staggered forward to drop to his knees before the woman.

“Mother.” He rested his forehead on her knees. “Forgive me for bringing this trouble on you and the girls.”